


Brothers

by Kalira



Series: Brothers [2]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Brothers, Cuddling & Snuggling, Family, Friendship, Gen, Hair Brushing, M/M, Naruto Founders Week 2019, Open to Interpretation, POV Outsider, Poor Madara, Swimming, are they into romantic or sexual love as well?, closeness, not Madara, they are super codependent, they love each other deeply, who knows!, who knows? not the author
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-27
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2020-06-27 04:58:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19783741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalira/pseuds/Kalira
Summary: No one can deny that the Senju brothers are very close. Madara never expected to find himself wondering just . . .howclose. He'd really rather not be now, if only he could shut the thoughts out.





	Brothers

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Founders Week 2019](http://foundersweek2019.tumblr.com/) Day 6: Brothers
> 
> Second installment of this series and I, like Madara, still have no idea as to Hashirama and Tobirama's relationship. The things Madara sees could imply Intimate Things but never confirm them. Once again, read as you like.

“-you’re sure?”

Madara rolled his eyes at Hashirama’s fluttering, distressed tone, immediately able to picture his expression and the manner that would accompany that tone.

“I’m sure, Anija.” Tobirama replied in an even, unruffled voice just as Madara reached his office door. “I’m fine; he’s irritating but necessary, and he’s hardly the worst diplomat I’ve dealt with.”

The Nara representative, Madara guessed, and couldn’t blame Tobirama for the displeased look he wore; the man was a mobile headache with a tea addiction.

Hashirama all but crooned, leaning closer over Tobirama and wrapping him in a hug, nuzzling into his hair and forcing his hands to slide backwards and drop away from his desk with the tightening embrace. Tobirama sighed and leaned back into it, lifting his chin and closing his eyes as Hashirama kissed his brow, then his temple, stroking his chest with one hand.

Madara twitched. While effusive, he hadn’t been . . . _surprised_ exactly to see Hashirama fawning over his little brother. That, however, was. . .

Hashirama nuzzled Tobirama’s temple and kissed his cheek, hand sliding inside his short yukata-style shirt and around to his ribs. Already relaxing into the petting, Tobirama sighed and wrapped his fingers around Hashirama’s arm, leaning into his brother, lips curving slightly.

Hashirama stroked Tobirama’s side under his shirt down to the barrier of his sash, hand clearly visible under the fabric, and hummed a happy little note when Tobirama twisted in his arms and reached up in return. Hashirama turned and sank down to rest on Tobirama’s desk as his brother’s arms wound around him, one hand sliding up over Tobirama’s neck and kneading gently.

Tobirama slid forwards and Hashirama shifted to make room, letting Tobirama fit between his knees and lean against his chest, arms still snug around his waist.

If Madara hadn’t _known_ their relationship he would have assumed the pair before him were lovers, not brothers. Rather bold ones, perhaps, given their place in the tower and the open door.

He cringed, shaking his head, and turned away, not quite willing to face up to them right now.

* * *

Madara rubbed his face, wishing he could justify going straight home to find his own bed rather than rousting his best friend from his. Soon, he promised himself, though it rang slightly hollow, knowing that the messages he carried very well might take a good chunk of his day to deal with.

For a good cause, however, he reminded himself, smiling slightly as he passed through the village - not exactly _bustling_ at this early hour, but still sprawling and safe and filled with warm points of life to his senses. His dream, shared with his dearest friend from long ago, and now made into a reality.

This was worth any amount of discomfort and unhappy tasks that he had borne up to take upon his shoulders.

Though, granted, he would be pleased if Hashirama would shoulder a bit more of his fair share. He was the damned _Hokage_ , and sometimes Madara thought the only reason for his completion of half of the work he _did_ get done was due to his brother’s chiding - or the cool, disapproving looks Tobirama sent him. Which had more of an effect than anything else towards motivating Hashirama, no matter the circumstances.

Madara frowned slightly, but shook it off as he approached the moderately sized house that Hashirama lived in with his brother. Smaller than his and Izuna’s home, actually. He knocked with a quick, easy rap, extending his senses by habit, unsure if Hashirama would be awake yet.

He relaxed a bit, feeling better about rousting his best friend so early as he realised Hashirama must be awake - him _and_ his brother, their powerful signatures blurry where they pressed together and all but wound together. Probably they were either having breakfast or Tobirama had dragged his brother into discussion over one of his projects.

Madara frowned as he was kept waiting, even as the chakra signatures inside _finally_ began to move. Hashirama approached, leaving Tobirama behind, and Madara frowned a little more as he recognised the thick, lazy pulse of Hashirama’s - generally rather overwhelming - chakra.

Then the door swung open and Madara blinked.

“-eyah. Madara?” Hashirama said on the tail end of a yawn. His hair was messy and his light yukata was rumpled badly enough it was almost falling off one broad shoulder, the obi twisted and higher on one side than the other. His face was marked with fabric creases on one side.

He . . . had probably been asleep.

With his brother. Madara had not been mistaken about that, their signatures had been so close they had practically been inseparable.

“Did you want to come in for tea?” Hashirama said sleepily.

“What?” Madara said blankly. “Oh. No. I just got back in to the village, and we have some pressing business to see to. Which _you_ will need to be party to.” he added firmly.

Hashirama yawned again, smothering it in his hand. Tobirama passed into view behind him in the shadowy, unlit house, wearing a dull green yukata that was snugly belted but still loose around his shoulders. He raised one arm, rubbing his face, and Madara’s brows rose slightly as he recognised the singed pattern on the sleeve from an incident with Hashirama a few weeks before.

Not that he’d _intended_ to set his best friend on fire, precisely.

His attention was drawn back as Hashirama protested, and Madara insisted, firmly reminding him of his responsibilities.

“Oh, all right.” Hashirama pouted. “Even if it _was_ supposed to be my day off.”

A part of Madara felt sympathy, recalling many rest days he had been forced to forfeit, before and after founding Konoha, but he only rolled his eyes, huffing at his friend.

“I’ll need to dress and prepare myself for the day, though.” Hashirama added, tugging absently at his dark green yukata. “Come inside and wait for me?”

Madara sighed and did so, letting himself be ushered into the kitchen before Hashirama disappeared deeper into the house, back the same way Tobirama had come.

Tobirama who was now sitting at the table, brilliant crimson eyes not fully open and slightly fogged with sleep, still wearing his brother’s yukata. He looked up and gestured vaguely to the chair across from him, then wrapped both hands around his tea cup again. Madara sank into the offered chair and eyed Tobirama warily.

“Tea?” Tobirama offered, his low voice slightly husky.

“Thank you.” Madara said without thinking. After a few moments he found himself looking down at the cup in his hands, faintly surprised to have it. He was more surprised, however, that Tobirama didn’t demand to know what brought Madara here or required Hashirama to come in to the office.

“Ahh, Tobi. . .” Hashirama crooned as he spilled into the kitchen, looking significantly neater in a properly-arranged short yellow yukata and dark pants, his hair brushed. “I have to leave you today after all,” he pressed a kiss to Tobirama’s cheekbone, wrapping his arms around his brother and practically snuggling into him despite the fact that the kitchen chairs were _not_ meant for two, “you’ll forgive me, won’t you?”

Tobirama took the snuggling with equanimity, eyes heavy-lidded as he relaxed in his brother’s tight embrace. “If you are needed for the village,” Tobirama said softly as Hashirama ran gentle fingers through his horribly tousled hair, stroking him firmly as though he were some manner of beloved and . . . rather tolerant pet, “then you are needed for the village, Anija. I will still be here.”

Hashirama made a delighted little sound in his throat, kissing Tobirama’s cheek again and hugging him a little tighter. Tobirama took a sip of his tea and then put the cup down, raising one arm to Hashirama’s shoulder and letting the other hand curl around his wrist, tugging him down closer.

Hashirama sagged into his brother’s embrace, nuzzling his cheek and jaw. “I will be working in my lab this afternoon, in any case,” Tobirama said idly, in the tone of a reminder, and Madara’s brows rose as Tobirama tilted his head and nuzzled his brother’s cheek affectionately in return, then kissed it, “unless you wind up needing me as well.”

“I _always_ need you, Tobi!” Hashirama said immediately, and Madara rolled his eyes and drained his cup of the rest of his still slightly too hot tea before rising from his chair. “But you take your day off and work on your own projects,” Hashirama’s stroked Tobirama’s hair again, then his neck, nudging at him until his head tucked close beneath Hashirama’s chin, “just be careful, please, darling otouto?”

“I shall.” Tobirama promised lightly, running his fingers up the inside of Hashirama’s forearm. “Try not to spatter yourself with ink today.” he added dryly.

Madara snickered despite himself, even as Hashirama pouted a protest.

Tobirama stroked his cheek and then his hair, the caresses immediately smoothing his expression back into a smile, and then nudged him away with a murmur. Hashirama sighed, but slunk towards the door, and Madara hurriedly followed, dragging his thoughts back to the work ahead rather than the Senju brothers.

* * *

Madara looked up as the trees shivered above him, reflexes twanging, then calming slowly. Though there had been many years when the flex of mokuton around him had been a warning sign, it was no danger _now_.

He looked around for his best friend, curious what Hashirama was doing here in the park. Especially since he was relatively sure that Hashirama had been supposed to be busy working with the Nara today on what, exactly, their extra responsibilities to Konoha would be, in exchange for being allowed the large forest that spread across the countryside for their deer.

Madara trailed towards the more heavily creaking trees, still a bit on edge but knowing Hashirama and his mokuton was never a threat to him. He paused, then put a hand on one of the nearest trees, leaning against it with a wince.

Hashirama stood in the centre of a tiny clearing, the trees rustling around him, but he did not stand alone. Tobirama was pressed snugly against Hashirama’s back, body shadowing every curve and angle of his brother’s, not a breath of air between them. His hands splayed wide, one high on Hashirama’s chest and one low in the cradle of his hips.

Tobirama swayed slowly, hands stroking, fingers curling against Hashirama’s chest and belly, and Hashirama gave a soft whimpering sound, closing his eyes and tilting his head back as his whole body leaned into his brother’s embrace.

Madara felt like he was intruding, like he _very much_ should not be here, more than anything - any couple, or more - he had ever walked in on in the past, however intimate or intense. Tobirama tucked his head against Hashirama’s shoulder, nuzzling his neck and rocking him in the protective embrace.

Hashirama sighed, relaxing even further, save for one hand clinging to his brother’s forearm, and Tobirama held him tighter.

Madara backed away silently, leaving them alone, feeling badly for having seen them . . . whatever he had seen.

* * *

Madara stirred with a groan, stretching out his senses before he was even fully awake.

Hashirama. His fucking best friend was at the fucking door and it was the middle of the night and Hashirama’s chakra was turbulent but Madara somehow doubted it was an actual emergency and. . .

Madara rolled out of his futon with a grumble and dragged himself to his feet to go . . . see what Hashirama wanted. He opened the door, rubbing a hand through his hair at one side of his head. “Hashirama?” he said, voice rough and thick. “What is it?”

Hashirama made a tiny, pitiful sound, his warm brown eyes wide and . . . wet? They glittered in the low light of the single lamp Madara had lit when he rose.

“Hashirama?” Madara reached out, concerned.

Hashirama clung to him, his ribs and the muscles at his waist complaining at the compression. “Madara. . .” Hashirama sniffed. “I miss him. . .” he wailed softly.

“Miss him?” Madara repeatedly blankly.

“My darling otouto. . .” Hashirama’s wailing grew a little in intensity as his voice wavered with obvious distress. “I can’t sleep when my Tobi isn’t home with me, Madara!”

Madara closed his eyes, irritation and disbelief warring in his groggy mind. “You can’t sleep because your brother isn’t home.” he repeated flatly.

“I can’t!” Hashirama sniffled, clinging harder.

“ _Why_ does that mean _I_ don’t get to sleep because your brother isn’t home?” Madara asked rhetorically. He wasn’t sure Hashirama, sniffling into his shoulder, actually heard him. “All right.” he added after a moment, and sighed. “Come in. I’ll make tea.”

Hashirama took a little prying to get off even enough to let Madara _move_ , but once that was done he followed Madara into the house obligingly enough, removing his shoes and trailing Madara towards the cushions tumbled around the irori. He checked that the kettle was full - bless Izuna, it was - and swung it over the coals; a quick seal and half a moment’s focus had them flaring back to life beneath it.

Madara considered seriously whether he actually wanted to know, but. . . “Why can’t you sleep?” he asked, smothering a yawn. “I mean, I know. Your brother is on a mission. Are you worried about him?” he asked; he could somewhat empathise with that. Izuna was a strong and capable shinobi but Madara fretted over him all the same.

It was his job, he reminded Izuna from time to time, usually while crushing him playfully hard under one arm or ruffling his hair; Izuna was his baby brother. Izuna generally flailed and fussed, but never tried too hard to get away, and he might never _say_ it, but his touches in return and the look in his eyes told Madara he appreciated it.

Even when he was cursing and kicking at his Aniki, Madara thought wryly.

“I worry,” Hashirama admitted, fiddling his fingers together and then leaning on the edge of the irori, “but mostly I just . . . miss him. He should be here, home, with me. I can’t sleep because something is _wrong_ when he’s not.” He turned a wide-eyed, pitiful look on Madara.

He swallowed back the impulse to point out Hashirama was a grown adult and a ninja, he should at _least_ be able to sleep while his brother was on a mission. Kami.

Madara went about making tea while Hashirama detailed how much he missed his precious baby brother some more. Madara tried not to yawn too obviously. Or think too much about all the work awaiting him tomorrow.

 _And_ he had a meeting with the Uchiha Elders. Damn. He wondered vaguely if he could manage to get Izuna to do that instead.

“He’ll be returning soon,” Madara pointed out, pouring tea and nudging a cup into Hashirama’s hands, “how,” he paused, “how did you manage during his missions before Konoha?” he asked, because surely Tobirama - one of the strongest ninja in the world, a match for Madara and his brother - had been in high demand. He still _was_ , he was just also very much needed in the village, and . . . that was a little more pressing, currently.

Especially as Madara thought there were at least a handful of systems that _only_ Tobirama knew the workings of, thus far. Certainly his efficiency beat out anyone else who tried to take over tasks he had been responsible for.

“Tobi didn’t often go anywhere without me.” Hashirama said, pouting into his tea. “He didn’t want to leave me alone. And he’s my heir . . . and one of the strongest of our clan. We . . . needed him.”

“. . .ah.” Madara said, with a sigh. “Of course.” That did actually make some sense.

Hashirama’s eyes were wide and sad in the low light of the fire, and Madara sighed, rubbing his face and focusing on his tea. He was too tired for this . . . although he wasn’t sure what he would have done, faced with Hashirama in this state, even well rested and during the day, so perhaps that was an unfair excuse.

“Aniki. . .” Izuna’s voice was thick and groggy. “Why are you making noise?” he whined, wandering out and across the main room to them.

Madara raised his eyebrows, then gestured at Hashirama beside him.

Izuna huffed poutily and dropped to his knees beside Madara.

“Do you want tea, Izuna?” Madara offered, lifting his cup a little.

Izuna yawned and flopped into the cushions rather than answer, the top of his head just brushing Madara’s thigh. Madara put a hand down and patted his hair, and Izuna made a mumbly content noise and curled up, dragging a cushion in against his chest.

Madara looked up again and- Oh no. Hashirama was looking even _more_ misty-eyed and miserable, whining softly as he raised his gaze back to Madara’s. Madara took a breath and braced himself for more of his best friend’s distressed wailing, fingers curling absently through his baby brother’s hair.

* * *

Madara was absently aware of the familiar ocean of cool, calm, _dangerous_ chakra outside his office, but if he had somehow missed that-

“ _Tobi!_ ” Hashirama all but shrieked in delight, and Madara flinched at the volume. He flinched again as he unwarily focused his senses, with a touch more chakra, and was practically buffeted by Hashirama’s lashing chakra, bright with joy and heavy with the strength he seemed all but unaware of most of the time.

“Anija,” Madara heard dully, then, “ _Anija!_ ”

Rubbing his temples and squeezing his eyes shut against the strength of the assault on his senses, Madara frowned uncertainly.

“I _missed_ you so! My Tobi!” Hashirama cried, and Madara could feel their chakra entwining; Hashirama’s, heavy and crushing and seeming at times to have a mind of its own; Tobirama’s, wild and choking and filling up every corner of any space he occupied.

They shouldn’t have meshed so neatly, but Madara had never sensed them clashing, not even when the brothers were arguing, or focused on their separate fights on a battlefield.

He tried to get back to work, but he couldn’t quite shut out the feeling of the two of them nearby . . . or the occasional words that drifted to him down the short distance from Hashirama’s office, mostly Hashirama’s own.

Eventually Madara gave up and collected some of his work to take home with him. He paused in the corridor, then turned towards Hashirama’s office, leaning in through the doorway. “Welcome back, Tobirama.” he greeted, inclining his head.

Tobirama nodded to him in response, lips curving into something that was almost a smile. He didn’t pull his hand away from where Hashirama was clinging to it, the both of them pressed up close on the couch in the corner of Hashirama’s office. Hashirama toyed with his fingers and squeezed his hand, squashing himself even closer to Tobirama and rubbing his cheek against Tobirama’s shoulder with a cooing noise.

“Did you need something, Madara?” Hashirama asked, snuggling into his brother.

“. . .no.” Madara said, resisting a twitch. “I’m going home early, taking some work to get done there.” he supplied, holding up his stack of files, half shrugging his shoulder where he had slung a satchel of scrolls. “Have a good evening. Don’t try to get back to work too soon; at least take tonight to rest from your mission.”

“I will.” Tobirama said almost dryly. “Thank you.”

Madara nodded and left them alone again, hurrying on his way.

* * *

“. . .Hashirama?” Madara began warily.

Hashirama happily raised his head from his work, laying aside his brush and crossing his arms to lean on them. If Madara had needed an additional sign that Tobirama was not in the office today . . . that would have been it.

Hashirama would slack off at almost any time, but to do it so easily? His brother’s quiet glare must be entirely absent from possibility.

“Your . . . brother.” Madara said tentatively, and Hashirama’s face bloomed with a bright smile. “Ah. Yes. That is. . .”

“What about Tobi?” Hashirama asked, raising his eyebrows.

“The two of you. . .” Madara paused, remembering the feel of their chakra wound up together, intimately tangled; watching Hashirama cuddle and pet and _kiss_ Tobirama, and the icy man simply allow it; Tobirama wrapping himself around Hashirama, solemn and steady; Hashirama’s _despair_ when Tobirama was away. . . “You’re . . . a little. . . Your relationship. . .”

“What about us?” Hashirama asked, apparently _honestly puzzled_.

“You’re very close.” Madara said thinly. “Aren’t you?”

Hashirama blinked at him, then laughed loudly. “Of course! We’re _brothers_ , Madara.” He giggled. “He’s. . .” Hashirama sobered quickly with a melancholy sigh, slumping a little. “He’s my last brother.”

Madara opened his mouth, but even with. . .

He couldn’t try to ask, not now. Whatever his curiosity and whatever Hashirama’s relationship with his baby brother and how fucked up it might be . . . this was something else, and something he and Madara had shared since they were children. This . . . Madara knew, too intimately. Madara rose and went to his friend, clasping his shoulder. “I understand.” he said softly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. . .”

Hashirama shook his head, smiling, though his eyes were a little glassy.

Madara hugged him comfortingly, and wheezed as Hashirama returned the embrace a little more than _too_ firmly.

* * *

Madara paused, tilting his head, realising he felt his best friend’s chakra . . . and Tobirama’s . . . he considered turning back. He told himself he was being foolish, and anyway he had wanted to check this entire route. Including this bend of the river.

He wasn’t going to back away from a _perfectly fine_ path through the forest because his best friend and his baby brother were there. That would be foolish. Besides, it wasn’t as though he’d ever seen them. . .

Madara sighed, wincing, not quite sure whether he expected to one day _actually_ find them at anything- They were brothers, he reminded himself. The attempted reassurance rang a little hollow but he . . . never could be sure _how_ hollow.

Madara stared, then ducked his head. They were _swimming_. He should have realised, from the faint splashes. They’d been more than just the river’s flow itself could account for, or was _likely_ to have been any of the animals that lived out here.

Hashirama was splashing about half-muttering - or singing - to himself, and not far away Tobirama emerged from the water, pushing his hands back through his hair as he shook off the water sluicing down his body.

Madara moved forwards again, feeling silly. Then he stopped, eyes wide.

“Tobi!” Hashirama cried, lunging for his brother from behind and carrying him down deeper in the water with the _smack_ of wet skin on skin.

Madara flinched and edged backwards, but he couldn’t quite look away.

Hashirama’s arms wound around his brother’s neck and shoulders, and they sank into the river in a splash. Tobirama _let_ himself be held and cuddled up to, he was the greatest suiton user possibly in _history_ and he was in the _river_. Madara had seen him use a suiton bolt to divert a mistakenly-thrown message tube without looking up from his paperwork. He hadn’t ruined a single bit of the paper filling the room, either.

He could have gotten loose from Hashirama’s hold easily, even without hurting him. But he didn’t, he twisted in Hashirama’s arms, laughing as he ‘struggled’ briefly, their legs twining under the water, and playfully tangled his hands into Hashirama’s hair. He used the grip to drag Hashirama down closer over himself as he sank backwards into the water. Madara cringed as Hashirama’s broad shoulders blocked more of his brother’s body and he bowed close . . . close enough to kiss, to be-

They tumbled under the water, and Madara shuddered and bolted before he could see anything else, no matter his . . . horrified curiosity.

. . . _really_ , what in the name of all the kami _was_ Hashirama’s relationship with his normally-icy little brother?

Madara cringed again and shook his head, trying not to imagine their bodies as they twined together in the water.

* * *

“Hashirama, you _have_ to get this done!” Madara said, exasperated, rubbing his face. “We should have sent our response _days_ ago!”

“I know! I know.” Hashirama winced, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry, Madara, I- I’ve been trying, but there’s been so much lately, it slipped through the cracks.” he said, his normally-smiling mouth twisted with upset.

Madara huffed, biting his lip, but nodded understanding. Hashirama _did_ try, and it was fair to acknowledge that he had entirely more to handle than perhaps any of them had anticipated before their village was actually being built. Possibly not Tobirama, who had taken to the new village with reams of plans and logistics ready to impose by sheer force of will.

“What’s wrong?” Madara asked, eyeing his best friend. Hashirama didn’t quite look like his normal self, even given the way he tended to droop when he felt like he’d failed, or disappointed someone . . . someone he cared for, in any case.

Hashirama looked up at him and opened his mouth, then stopped and slumped. “I have a headache. I can’t fix it.” he said, one eye squinting a little. “It’s all right, I’ve drunk more willow tea and we need to get this done.”

“Give it here.”

Madara jumped, then silently cursed himself for not noticing Tobirama come in. He passed by Madara without really acknowledging his reaction.

“Tobi! No, I need to-”

“You won’t give it your best if you can’t think straight.” Tobirama scolded gently, taking the papers from Hashirama’s hands and setting them aside on his desk. He moved around Hashirama’s desk, hooking the leg of the table behind where he sat with one ankle and hauling it closer, hopping up onto it. “Let me take care of you, Anija.”

Hashirama made a soft sound as Tobirama drew a hand over his temple, one that fortunately drowned out whatever choked sound Madara himself had made.

Tobirama tugged gently at Hashirama’s shoulders, and he slouched backwards in his chair, allowing his head to fall against Tobirama’s chest. He kissed his brother’s brow, then nudged him up a little and rubbed his temples with gentle fingers.

“So what _did_ you get done today, Anija?” Tobirama asked, his voice low and smooth, his hands beginning to stroke through Hashirama’s long hair. “Madara?”

Madara startled at being included, having been thinking of slipping out to leave them alone. He met sharp crimson eyes, and cleared his throat, mentally reviewing his afternoon’s work with Hashirama before beginning to speak.

Tobirama listened and questioned and offered his own insights and reports, and all the while he slowly ran his fingers through Hashirama’s hair, rubbed his shoulders and neck, or stroked his brow and temples. Hashirama was slouched, eyes heavy-lidded, and Madara wasn’t entirely sure he was tracking reality any longer.

He certainly wasn’t speaking, but Tobirama hadn’t said anything or seemed displeased when he trailed off and stopped responding.

Tobirama bent forwards, looping one arm around his brother’s chest and hugging him gently, kissing the top of his head and leaning there for a moment. Hashirama snuggled into the embrace and Madara paused for a moment, then continued his sentence.

Tobirama nodded slightly, meeting his eyes, and offered a comment. Loosening his arm around Hashirama, he reached forwards and tapped his fingers on the desk. “Comb.” he said absently.

Hashirama folded his hands, his chakra flaring, and then passed Tobirama a smooth wooden comb. Madara stared. Tobirama hummed, shifting where he sat and drawing Hashirama’s hair back, beginning to bring the comb through it in long strokes, pausing to tease out the few knots there were. Hashirama made little contented sounds, sinking down a little more in his chair, and Tobirama tilted his head and hummed to himself again, then began pull Hashirama’s hair into sections, setting the comb aside and weaving a smooth braid.

* * *

Madara took a breath, glancing over at his best friend. He had all but given up trying to subtly lead Hashirama to the question, or to revealing anything - probably should have known better than to try in the first place, Hashirama could be impressively obtuse.

Sometimes Madara wondered if he did it on purpose - sometimes swore he _did_ , for certain - but sometimes it was clearly just. . .

Hashirama’s head was forever in the clouds.

It was entirely too easy to _see_ things missing the mark entirely with him, if one knew him well . . . and while Madara found it frustrating, it was just part of who he was. He had heard it called ‘endearing’, and frankly shared Tobirama’s exasperation at the idea - even the grouchily reserved Tobirama had shown his irritation obviously then.

Madara had been faintly horrified when he had realised he was exchanging an understanding, exasperated, _these people are idiots_ look with _Tobirama_.

“You know I’ve had a question for a while,” Madara said, glancing out at the deserted road, extending his senses idly and finding nothing nearby, “which I somehow keep failing to find an answer for.”

Hashirama turned towards him, then bumped their shoulders genially. “Oh? What’s that, Madara? It’s not like you to give up.”

“I’m not _giving up_!” Madara snapped, tense and irritated. “I wouldn’t even have wanted to _know_ , but I keep- I wouldn’t have even _thought_ of it.” he grumbled, wincing. “I keep _seeing_ you two, though, and- and _sensing_ you,” and he’d never sensed them . . . seemingly _in the act_ \- and thank fuck - but their chakra tangled and interwove so intimately, and _they_ entwined themselves so intimately, “I can’t help but want to know.”

“Me?” Hashirama asked, blinking. “What are you talking about?” He laughed, wrapping an arm around Madara’s for a moment and hugging it before releasing him again. “I am an open book for you, my friend, you know that!”

“You and . . . your brother.” Madara said, fighting not to allow the distaste he felt to cross his face. “Your . . . relationship.”

“Tobi? What about me and Tobi?” Hashirama asked with an innocent look thrown his way.

Madara eyed his best friend, teeth all but grinding. “Oh _kami_ , Hashirama, _are you fucking your brother_?” he demanded almost before he knew the words were spilling out.

Hashirama’s attention suddenly fixed on him, warm eyes incredibly wide. “What! . . . _Madara_ , that’s- you just- _what_ -” He half-shuddered, shaking his head. “That’s _very_ rude.”

Madara stared at him. _Rude._ “Gah!” Madara caught his own hair in his fingers and tugged in frustration. “ _Hashirama!_ ”

“It is! That’s incredibly rude!” Hashirama said, mouth twisted. “I cannot believe you would-”

“ _But is it true?_ ” Madara demanded, but Hashirama’s attention, _somehow_ , was already sliding away.

“Oh! Look!” Hashirama cried, expression brightening. “Tobi’s back! Tobi! My darling otouto!” he cried, darting away.

“Damn it Hashirama, _get back here_!” Madara yelled, knowing it was pointless.

He watched Hashirama reach his brother, sweeping the usually-cool man into an effusive embrace and almost off his feet. Tobirama submitted to the affection easily, as usual for Hashirama, nuzzling his cheek as he pressed close.

Madara pulled his own hair again, let out a rough growl, and spun, stomping off and pointedly locking down his chakra, shutting out the feeling of Hashirama and Tobirama’s signatures mingling and twining together with the welcoming softness of familiarity behind him.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.social/Kalira) or [Dreamwidth](https://kalira.dreamwidth.org)!


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